


Lady B- and the Poor Dusky Brethren

by Ankaret



Category: The Comfortable Courtesan - Madame C- C-
Genre: Black Character(s), Character(s) of Color, Misses Clause Challenge, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:56:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5432234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ankaret/pseuds/Ankaret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These pages, found in the archives of the Hereditary Princes of W-, were long thought to form part of the third volume of Madame C- C-'s Memoirs, being placed directly before her departure to Naples.  Though the weight of critical opinion is now that they are by Another Hand, they may yet be of some interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miss D Is Concerned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kotturinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kotturinn/gifts).



> Many thanks to my wonderful beta reader!

## Miss D- Is Concerned

Comes Miss D- to coffee this morning, and opens to me a _full budget_ of gossip. O, she says, my dear, 'tis such a treat to speak of matters other than the _Election_ , and then goes on to tell me all about the Election. and how Mr N- fears that he will be ousted from the Home Office by those who go about to be seen as a _new broom_.

His good friend General O- says he will be very glad to use his interest to find him a place in the _War Department_ , says she, but the end of it will be that he will offend some Colonel Sir Somebody by telling him how to conduct a war, and the end of it will be a _matter of honour_ , she quite knows it. And General O- always so willing to stand second to anyone, she adds, and almost bursts out weeping. 

I can see she is quite overset, and send for more coffee, and a dainty called _parkin_ whose recipe Euphemia had from Mrs F-'s cook the last time I visited my darlings. At this Miss D- revives, gives a dry laugh and says that she has quite forgotten to tell me all the news. 

If it is not of politicks, I say, my dear, speak on. 

Well, she says, there is the matter of Miss M-, or should you sooner hear of how Miss I- is returned to town? 

O, Miss I-, I cry, I remember her very fondly from my earliest days in the _profession_. 

She was quite the queen of the demi-mondaines in those days, being known for her fearless riding that quite outdid any at Astley's Amphitheatre, and also her exceptional skill at driving a carriage. I admired her excessively, she in turn being most gracious to me, and often tendering me such _advice_ and other small kindnesses of which even a protegee of Madame Z- must occasionally find herself in need. Indeed now I think of it, in her stature and dashing ways, she puts me greatly in mind of my darling wild girl, but I do not say so to Miss D-. 

Did she not take up with Mr de Q– that was known for being fearfull jealous, and whisked her off to a hunting-box? 

Indeed yes, says Miss D-, it is a sad matter, and dabs her eyes with a handkerchief. 

Is Mr de Q- gone to his fathers, then? I enquire, for I mind that Mr de Q- was exceeding handsome and Miss D- had some mind to him herself in former days. 

Better he had been, says Miss D-, than to behave in such a way. He is engaged to be marry'd to a rich Irishwoman that has her own estate that is said to be in _rattling good hunting country_ and has turn'd out Miss I- and her six children – 

Six? I enquire, and endeavour to count without doing so on my fingers; sure it has been ten years or more, and six children therefore not such a surprize as I had first thought. 

Six indeed and the youngest a babe in arms, my dear, says Miss D- very earnest, and told her that as for the Settlement he offer'd her, he has thrown all the papers on the fire and she may whistle for it. Sure t'is a sad shocking tale. 

That wretch! cry I. I think of Miss I- that had the town at her feet, and of the six children, who look in my fancy a great deal like the young F-'s, and the babe in arms like Flora. I consider all those who will think this behaviour of Mr de Q-'s no shame at all, and those who will fix the blame on the Irish lady, and those who will have it all Miss I-'s fault and damn her for a w---e. I believe there are few but her _sisters in arms_ (and sure not all of those) that would lay the blame squarely on Mr de Q-'s doorstep. 

Indeed it makes me sorry that there is no such thing as a _female politician_ (for a Politickal Female is indeed a different matter) that could bring in a bill to give Miss I- justice. But, think I, if I were forever telling the House of Commons I was a poor foolish creature, sure they would only _believe it_. Is there none of her old friends to assist her, I ask, for sure if there are Miss D- will be the one to know of it. 

Why let me think, says Miss D-, though she seems _distract'd_ from what would in the ordinary way be meat and drink to her. There was Mr van A- the painter, who is departed home to the Low Countries, and his great rival Mr J- G- that experimented with _painting in mercury_ and passed away so young, and of course there was Sir J- S- O- who was last heard of bankrupt in Calais. He also painted, now I think it, she seemed to have a great love of the fellows of that fraternity. 

Dear old Sir J-! I say, 'twas he that begged the honour of my _first engagment_ when I left Madame Z-'s establishment and set up my own household. (The old rogue had a curious custom involving _egg-whites_ , I mind, which he said he had learn'd in the Orient, and while there was no need of it in my case I think it a useful device for those who are _more truly tyros in their craft_ when they set out upon it.) 

Was it indeed so? says Miss D-. There was Mr W- that is now a bishop and suffers terribly from the gout, but may be interested in _charitable causes_ , and was not Mr H- the philosopher of her party, when he came new up from the University? But he is another nasty creature. 

Why, Miss D-, I say with much mirth, do you go about to call a bishop a _nasty creature_? 

She laughs. Sure I spoke of Mr E- H- that is now of Grub Street, and thinks of himself as the great rival of Mr P-. Did you ever look at his treatise _On Whether Female Creatures Possess Souls?_ Mr N- was a subscriber – for t'was at that time he was much incensed at Mr P- about some matter or other of correspondence in the newspapers – and it made me quite ill to see the thing in the library. 

O, say I, he is paid out in his own coin; he has made his mark with _little swift darts_ at those of us in the profession, and other poets and hacks, and now he tries to rise to philosophickal matters he finds his own feet are fix'd in the clay where he put 'em. But I doubt he should be of any use to Miss I- in any case. 

You come the philosopher yourself, says Miss D-. Do you not recall that piece he wrote of _you_ , after your Prussian essay'd to… 

I pray her not to speak of the Prussian. 

Well, says Miss D, there is one comfort for such poor wronged women as we, Mr E- H- may be the heir of Sir M- H- the dandy, but sure Sir M- would sooner spend his ready on a pink diamond collar for his _poodle_ than leave a competence behind for his cousin. 

I say that I should sooner read the poodle's thoughts on philosophy. 

And then there is Miss M-, says Miss D- very darkly. 

I perceive that Miss D- is still very intimate with Miss A-, and hears all her secrets. O, I say, is Miss M- return'd to Mr J's company? I thought there was some doubt of it. 

She is return'd and _left again_ , says Miss D- dramatickally. Run off most intemperate, and put them all in a taking. Miss A- was quite wild about it. 

O, say I, I do not consider she should _frazzle_ herself over Miss M-, that can take care very well of herself. 

I dare say it is so, says Miss D-. She says she is expect'd at Mamzelle Bridgette's, but does not offer to go, and walks about the room instead. 

Come my dear, say I, there is more. 

Oh, no! she says, and then Oh, indeed! and weeps into her handkerchief. I send off Prue for more coffee and more parkin. 

Tis Mr N-, she says into the handkerchief. I was about the house taking up _odd papers_ to make tapers to light candles with, and finding an old bill for some _fans_ I took it up, and turning it over saw... O my dear, he has been about making a list of reasons _for and against matrimony_! 

O, 'tis very like Mr N-, I think, and sure _Sandy_ would approve of his logickal approach to the matter. I pat Miss D- upon the shoulder and contrive to calm her. I do not believe, I say, that he would take such a step without making you a _handsome settlement_. 

When I hear of Miss I- and her plight I wonder, she says dolefully. They say she is _much chang'd_. 

I believe you should open the matter with Mr N-, say I, for sure he is a gentleman who will not take it amiss. 

I cannot ask him, she says, he is gone to _Gloucester_ to visit his mother, and 'tis not at all what can be broach'd in a letter, even did I know of a _club_ where he might receive letters in Gloucester, which I do not.

I kiss her. Whatever may come to pass, I say, you must know yourself _not altogether friendless_ in the world. 

O indeed I know, she says fondly, and goes off to Mamzelle Bridgette's a little comforted. 

I have time to write a little on my new tale. I think of introducing a new character, a _forsaken odalisque_. Up comes Euphemia, saying my lady, a word if convenient. 

I put my work aside and mark that Euphemia looks annoy'd, but more in the way of a nurse with a _troublesome charge_ than one who raises a grave matter. My lady, she says, Phoebe and I have been about the kitchen accounts together, and for certain there is food goes missing from the larder. 

I hope there are no _rats_ , say I, though if there are, I shall send to _Roberts_ that has often told me of the good rat traps he is in the way of making. 

O no indeed, not in my kitchen! she says most indignant, I should be sorry to look Seraphine in the eye should I ever allow such a thing. I thought most likely t'was Timothy, for boys of his age are always hungry, and therefore took occasion to tell him that should he want some bread and ham or a piece of cheese between one meal and another, he should _ask, and it should be given_. 

To this he looked most innocent, and _not_ , my lady, like one that goes about to put on a face of innocence, but as one that truly did not know what I was about. He said that what he should like is to have a _cup of tea_ when I make one, unless he is needed about his duties and supposing the price of tea-leaves should permit. I run about a good deal, he says, it gives me a thirst. 

He is a good deal better drinking tea than spirits at his age, I agree. 

Well, so I thought, my lady, says Euphemia drying her hands, that need it not, on her clean apron. Well, then, that leaves Prue and Celeste, and sure both are good girls, and if either had a _follower_ Phoebe and I would know of it. Therefore I think it is a matter of _foolishness_ rather than anything much amiss. Perhaps one of them fancy's herself greensick. But more likely, Madame, there has been some _remark_ made – by Timothy, I dare suppose, or perhaps that loose-tongued fellow Ajax - about the amount one or 'tother eats at table (for they are strong growing girls and need their sustenance) and now they peck at their food in company and resort to the _larder_ at night. 

Well, I say, I leave this in your hands, but if there is any _medical_ matter amiss, you may be assured it will be treated, and nothing taken from their wages to pay for it. 

Euphemia thanks me and bobs a curtsey. Speaking of _Ajax_ , she says, he certainly eats a good deal and more, it seems, lately, but sure if _he_ were blundering into the kitchen pantry t'would have woken the neighbourhood. 

I shall go about to ask Hector to speak to him, I say, and turn to praise of her parkin. 


	2. Miss A- Visits

## Miss A- Visits

Comes Miss A- the next evening very cross, so cross indeed that she does not play at being righteous _Cordelia_ or spurned _Dido_ but merely states plainly what is amiss. 

The most trying thing, she says, Mr J- has put _a child of thirteen_ in Miss M's old part, and sure it makes work for the rest of us. I put no blame on the little prodigy Mamzelle V- that is a hard-working little creature and puts on no airs, but all the cast had become used to _run in the same traces_ together and this oversets all. 

Sure it is often the way, I murmur. Is there no news then of Miss M-? 

She has at least paid off her lodgings, says Miss A-, but none knows where she is gone. Perhaps she has gone off once more on a _repairing lease_ , or her _colonial beau_ has taken a fancy to her and swept her off to the Americas – though in truth I thought that nothing but a tale. 

I ask her about the _colonial beau_. She gives me to understand that she thinks it nothing but Miss M- that puts on airs, that there was indeed a rich gentleman of Charleston or some such place, she remembers not which, but thinks it not Philadelphia, that paid for the best box and was most generous in his _vails_ to the theatre servants, but that she saw no sign that he favoured Miss M- over any other. 

If it was not that I worry what Miss M- might be doing, she says as she finishes her coffee, I would be happy to see her gone, for sure when Mamzelle V- has a little more practice she will outshine Miss M- in the part entirely. I only hope the poor child is not overset when she reads Mr P-'s criticism, for that nasty Mr E- H- has already prais'd her, and sure where Mr E- H- praises Mr P- pours down contumely – oh, by by, have you heard the news about Mr E- H-?. 

What has that fellow done now? I ask. 

O, she says, he _puts it about privily_ that he is the author of _The Gypsy's Curse_ , &c, &c, in order to puff off his new Allegorical Poem. But sure if t'were so, he would have come to Mr J- by now and demanded some of the _takings_. 

If Mr E- H- were a woman, I should be strongly entitled to call him by the name b---h. I say nothing of this to Miss A-, and she takes my expression as confirmation of her own doubts. Indeed, she says, I see you and I are of the same mind; he merely _goes about to make a fuss_. Have you heard that he has offer'd an establishment to that _poor worn out old mare_ Miss I-, for the sake of her _old reputation_ for sure it cannot be for her _attractions?_

I recall that I once saw on Lady J-'s desk a fine _pencil study_ of Miss I- endorsed _The cause of my first disagreement with my cousin Miss B-, and of our first reconciliation, to be kept forever_. I pretend to think Miss A- speaks of horseflesh in general, and mention that Hector considers Ajax to be out of sorts, and knows not why. 

Oh, she says, it will be that all the men who ask him for _racing tips_ go about instead to bet on the Election. 

Sure I had not considered this, and it seems more than likely.


	3. I Call Upon Miss I-

## I Call Upon Miss I-

Having had Miss I-'s direction from Miss A-, I go to pay a visit. Docket shakes her head at me for _fussing_ over my attire, and says, my lady, you look well in black, and sure this new shape of bonnet is most becoming. Sure I do not know why I should be so _nervous_. 

The lodgings procured by Mr E- H- are no more than a _garret_ , but very well lit, and I see that Miss I- has turned it into something of the nature of an _artist's studio_. 

Sure she is indeed much changed, and yet not at all. She is sketching out a fine composition of three little children that sleep prettily with their heads together on a cushion, which makes me think how much I should like to have such a study of Flora. Sure it makes me wonder whether, when she was much in the society of _artists_ in earlier years, it was as one of the fraternity rather than a _deputy of the Muses_ : for sure her pencil is as telling as that of Sir Z- R-, tho' I have not yet seen her attempt the subject of a _wombatt_. 

As for the children themselves, one still sleeps upon the cushion, though with her face buried and her body hump'd up like a caterpillar, and the elder two are very busy by the wainscot attempting to catch a beetle. 

Miss I- sees me and clasps me by both hands, kisses my cheek  &c, and exclaims, O, tis _little C_ , that is now a ladyship. I always said that you would grow into a fine woman. Come Lucy, come John, make your bows to Lady B-. 

The child Lucy blushes and hides behind her mother's legs, but John sets his feet apart and his shoulders back, clasps his hands behind, and enquires How now, Lady B-, have you good hunting this season? in what must be his father's tones. Sure Mr de Q- is a brute to disperse his little family so. 

O he has no town-polish, says Miss I-. How do you, Lady B-, and how does little G-, that was always David to your Jonathan? 

Gone abroad, I say shortly. 

O indeed? she says. I had always thought she was _such as I_ , a woman who loves men for the dear foolish creatures they are, and yet desires the _fruits_ of the rites of Venus as much as their performance. Is it not so? she must have a little G- of her own by now to follow her about and carry her train, surely, or mayhap two or three. 

I miss her company greatly, I say, and resolve to say no more. For t'is not my secret, and better that an acquaintance of Mr E- H- have no idea there is a secret at all. 

Indeed? she says again. 

Indeed, say I. She looks at me with an _artist's sharpness_ , and says, O, I perceive things have chang'd indeed. Forgive me, I pray, for teazing. Will you not sit over there where the _light_ is best, and take off your bonnet, for I should dearly love to make a _study_ of you. Will you take a little – 

O no no, I say, I am quite refresh'd: for I do not want to strain the household by putting them to any expense. 

Will you take a little time to arrange yourself so as to maximise your comfort, she continues smiling, for I mind you were always used to – no, no, I swore only a moment ago I would not _teaze_ you, for things are not as they were. 

I admir'd you greatly when I was _new on the Town_ , I say, and the advice that you were kind enough to give me was always just, so pray tell me what I was _always used to_. 

O you are so stiff! she says laughing. Sure it cannot be so when you were _always used to squeek and wriggle_. 

Indeed I blush. 

Miss I- asks me a deal of questions about the latest works of Sir Z- R-, that she greatly admires, and also of Mr de C-. I am emboldened to ask her is it _true_ she has come to an arrangement with Mr E- H-? 

She laughs merrily and says no, no, he merely puts her in the way of _work_ , and not the work I may think of, she is not come to that. The food in her childrens' bellies is bought by her illustrations to his new Allegorical Poem – a sad dull business in her opinion, but with many _tableaux_ to be illustrated – and also by other sketches that she is wont to dash off and send to the _engraver_ as needed. 

I hope this sketch of me will not end up in a Grub Street window, I say. 

O no indeed, I shall give it to you to take away – but why indeed should I not make money from those scoundrels? they have made enough money from me. 

As she declares this she tosses her head, and though her hair is now more grey than brown she looks her old self indeed. 

She makes a very fine sketch of my head and shoulders, with a judicious outline of my _bubbies_ , before the youngest child wakes and must be tended to. I praise it for a fine child, as indeed it is, and ask after the elder three that are not here present. 

I give the girls lessons, she says, but indeed I wish a place could be found in a good school for little _Thomas_ , that thinks himself the man of the house. He was used to learn Latin and Greek with a dissenting gentleman of the village and is a good clever boy and nothing like Mr de Q-. (I cannot tell why or how, but I have the impression of her that Mr de Q- is _not_ the father of young Thomas, but she does not convey who may be, so I suppose no help can be expected from him). 

I do not care to speak ill of Mr de Q- in front of Lucy and John, that _are_ to be presum'd his children and are of an age to understand what falls upon their ears, but give her to understand that I enter into all her sentiments, and that if she wishes legal counsel over the matter of the _Bond_ , I know of those who may be of aid to her. 

O, she says, whispering in my ear most confidential (which gives me to feel a not unpleasing _quiver_ ), there I was paid back in my own coin; my _little pencil_ can render the _hands_ of others quite as well as it can their _physiognomies_. Mr de Q- thought he had the better of me, for he had neither sign'd nor dat'd the Bond; but he was surpriz'd to find it completed in his own hand, such as would fool his own _boot-maker_. 

He was a rogue, she says a touch melancholy, but yet so was I, and indeed we were well-match'd until the need came upon him for money. Sure I should go about to illustrate _Moll Flanders_ , for I could draw many scenes _from life_. 

I trust we shall neither of us end in _Newgate_ , say I, nor can I believe you began there. 

I began my life in _Tunbridge Wells_ , says she, t'was monstrous dull, and I was happy to be _debauch'd_ as soon as might be by a stable-boy. She tips her head to one side as to invite confidences. Sure she is a woman of _dangerous charms_. I tell her a little of my early life in the theatre, and she speaks to me with great respect of Madame Z, which shows good feeling. She presses my hand in farewell. I shall not call on you, Lady B-, she says, but if you wished to call upon me, sure I should be delight'd. 

As she shows me out, she mentions that she wishes Mr E- H- were indeed the author of _The Gypsy's Curse_ for it would give her great pleasure to illustrate that, particularly the scenes in the nunnery. But he knows no more of what goes on in the heads of a parcel of women together, she says thoughtfully, than he does of the Man in the Moon, so sure it is not he. 

I press her hand and say farewell. 

On the way home in the carriage I make a memorandum that, when I write to my dear F-'s, I shall ask whether there is a charity place at the fine school attended by Harry and Nate, that might be found for Thomas I-.


	4. There Is An Addition To The Household

## There Is An Addition To The Household

My carriage draws up at the same time as that of Lady W- that has come to visit. Ajax is in a state of quite unwonted _bustle_ about the horses, and says that he sees Lady W-'s pair are _too hot to stand_ and must be walked up and down. Lady W-'s coachman thanks him not to be teaching him his business. I am quite dismay'd at this brangle upon my doorstep, but at once Hector comes forward to settle all and I bustle Lady W- upstairs. 

We talk of the Election. She gives me a _political fan_ showing the Opposition turn to a farmyard. Sure it is most cunning. I wonder if I see Miss I-'s hand in the drawing. Lady W- says that Sir B- W- considers his own _seat_ secure, the opposition's Candidates in the borough of O- H- a fool and a thorough rascal, but that t'other candidate of his own party is not steady, and put forward only at the urging of an interested uncle. 

Sure, I say, will this not encourage the gentlemen of O- H- to cast one of their votes for Sir B- W- rather than otherwise? 

Why I would believe so, says she, yet a man may be a good judge in his business, she says, or in the management of his affairs, and yet not so in _politicks_. 

She speaks warmly of my darling Mrs F-, that has given her good advice concerning her second _accouchement_ , and says that soon she will not be coming and going about as she did, but that at least the _dread crocodile_ is down in O- H- with Sir B- rather than in London. If the child is born on the night of the Election, she says, sure I will call him Electivus W-, or Electiva if a girl. 

Tho' she seems very chearful, sure she has something of the demeanour of one that _whistles in the dark_ , this being no surprise in light of the _ordeal_ ahead of her. She kisses my cheek and we part most warmly. 

I sit down to write to my darlings. I find I have much to say to them, and I scribble on by the light of a candle when I hear voices outside the door rais'd to that _loudest of whispers_ that is more penetrating than Miss A- giving _tragick Hermione_ from the stage. 

Come along where you will not disturb her ladyship, hisses Phoebe, and no doubt Euphemia will give you a spoonful of _rum and treacle_ to settle your nerves. 

'Tis not my nerves, 'tis what I saw with my own eyes, says Celeste, and my lady should know of it. 

I take up the candle and go to the door and ask what is amiss. 

O your ladyship, cries out Celeste, I have seen the D---l in the coach-house. 

'Twas but the shadows, says Phoebe, standing as if to shield Celeste from my wrath (which I find most touching, as she cannot be more than two years her elder), I have told her that if she is a good girl and says her prayers she has no need to fear the d---l. 

I hope none of us may fear him, I say, but I desire to know what he does in my coach-house. (For I can see there will be no peace until the matter is thoroughly scouted out.) Celeste, go and find Hector and acquaint him of the business, and come, Phoebe, take this candle and go with me. 

Celeste runs off without making any complaint. This convinces me that she is not playing at games, since if she were, sure she would not want Hector to know anything of it. 

I take a lantern, and Phoebe assumes an attitude of extream protectiveness, and we venture forth. Before we are half way over the cobbles I hear voices raised. One of them is for certain Hector's. You must tell her ladyship all, says he. 

Yet she may not take my part as you think, says a husky voice I do not know. 'Tis perhaps Irish, or from the far north of Scotland, and sounds that of an educated person. 

Both Ajax and Hector sing my praises in such tones as make me extream embarrass'd (for Ajax never opens his mouth in my presence but to say yea or nay, and I had not known he held me in such esteam). The other seems unconvinc'd, and says this all may be so, but in such a situation many a lady has been seen dabbing her cheeks with a lace handkerchief as her old friends _go to the block_. 

Good heavens, think I, is this a matter of _executions_? Sure I hope Ajax has not taken to _uttering of false coin_ in my coach-house. 

Still nothing will be made better, says Hector, for the pair of you running away to Gretna Green, or whatever foolishness it is that you propose. 

I step into the stables and Phoebe with me. Hector stands by the body of the coach. Within it are Ajax and another person, of whom I can see nothing but that I collect it is another of Hector and Seraphine's connections. 

What goes on here, brother? says Phoebe. Celeste says that she saw the D----l. 

She has seen the d---l of a, begins Hector hotly, and then sees me. He makes a low bow, and goes about to put himself between Ajax and the means of _running away into the night_. Sure it is a strange scene, with the _lanterns_ and the eyes that watch me narrowly, and the shadow of the coach like some _stage prop_. 

I wish, I say, to know what goes on. 

I believe, my lady, says Hector, that Ajax is not _entirely_ to blame, but things have not been running according to the custom of the household. 

O ho! I think, here are the thefts from the pantry. Sure t'is not just _Sandy_ that can solve a mystery. What is amiss, I enquire, and why did he not bring the whole matter to me? 

Ajax stands up, and puts his coat protectively over the other's shoulders. I cannot yet tell whether 'tis a woman that is accustom'd to hard work, or a bantam fellow. It helps not that all I can see is a head wrapt in a turban of russet cloth and a face most closed and watchful. 

This is Cut-Jo, says Ajax, that was known to me when I worked at Sir M- H-'s stables, that has some knowledge of blacksmithing, can doctor horses and men and throw off agues and matters of that nature, and knows a great deal of _the planting of indigo_ and other matters. 

I nod to Cut-Jo as one practicioner of a craft to another. Cut-Jo returns the nod with a flash of _sharpened teeth_ that startles me extreamly. But what do you, I ask, in my stables? 

There was an _understanding_ between 'em, says Hector when neither Cut-Jo nor Ajax answers at once. 

This spurs Cut-Jo to speech, and I recognise the accent at last as that of our former possessions in the Americas. 

I am a _fugitive_ these eight years, says Cut-Jo. I was used to be _servant_ to one Colonel T- of South Carolina, but the Colonel happening to travel to _London_ to visit a fellow he knew that had hopes of admission to the Royal Society, he brought me with him. 

It must be I look dubious, for Cut-Jo has not the air of one who waits upon the gentry. 

He brought me with him, Cut-Jo continues, because he had happened to sell his valet for a good price the month before to a _soul trader_ leading the march to Georgia, and also because this _friend_ of London had express'd a wish to look upon me. It happen'd that Colonel T- and his friend happen'd to quarrel over some matter of _chymistry_ or other, and in the confusion I took my chance to flee the household, eventually finding myself in the household of Sir M- H- that is well known a friend of the abolition. 

And also a friend to anyone who can doctor horses, says Ajax. 

Cut-Jo looks upon him fondly. Indeed, 'tis so. 

But now, says Hector taking up the tale, Colonel T- has returned. He is indeed _in London_ about some business. 

He seeks me again, says Cut-Jo, and out of spite wishes to sell me aboard a ship bound for the sugar plantations of _Cuba_ in New Spain, where certainly I should be work'd to death within a year. 

Indeed it is so, says Hector, 'tis cheaper to work one crew of men twenty hours in the twenty-four and when they fall down dead of exhaustion to buy more. Ajax nods. I am perplex'd to think that this is common knowledge in my household and yet I had no idea of it. 

But sure there are no slaves in England, say I. 

Ajax says something of chimney-sweeps, to which Hector tells him sharply to keep his Utilitarian ideas to himself, he has spent too much time listening to – and then stops his tongue, though I perceive he means Mr MacD-. 

I do not know the legalities of it, your ladyship, says Hector recovering himself, but it seems to me you know those who would. 

Indeed, say I, and am reminded of one of the mottoes on my pretty _china_. Sure, Cut-Jo, you may consider yourself _under my protection_ , for are you not a man and a brother? 

'Tis a debatable question, says Cut-Jo, and smiles with a flash of those teeth. 

If you go about to _walk out_ with Ajax, says Hector, you would do better to put on petticoats. 

'Tis all one to me, says Cut-Jo. 

Ajax smiles as if he could not believe such a one would _walk out_ with him, in much the same way as I have seen often in Mr de C- when he looks upon Phoebe. 

But madam, says Cut-Jo looking upon me very frankly, I would not entangle you with _that monster_ , for he would not hesitate to offend against a _woman alone_. Why he has driven one wife from his doors with his abominable cruelty, and immediately marry'd another, that was a _widow_ and had no mind to him. 

I look around at Hector and Phoebe and Ajax, that still stands as if he expects a _prize-fight_. I do not go about to marry him or any other, say I, and I think he would have a struggle did he try to carry me off, for I have friends around me.

I bid Cut-Jo follow me into the house. I shall tarry a moment, my lady, says Hector, to talk to Ajax and my sister. Sure this is _household business_ and t'would be most ill-bred in me to observe it. Cut-Jo holds Ajax' coat about her shoulders and follows me. 

Madame, she says, this is a long reckoning between myself and Colonel T-, and I would not see Ajax harmed by putting himself in the way of it. He is a good man and a good friend, and will in time come to understand that such as I cannot marry. 

Sure there are many who live together happy enough without marriage, say I, and some among 'em who had come to believe there was no _felicity_ in life for _such as they_. 

O no no, says Cut-Jo, 'tis quite a separate matter. Is it not as Hector has said, that you are a _votary of Venus_? 

Can you not bear to remain in such a household? ask I. 

Why, says Cut-Jo, I think that your _orishey_ and mine may live in the same shrine a while. 

I know not what an orishey may be, and say so. 

'Tis Venus that is with you in your _worships_ , says Cut-Jo, and that speaks through you to give good counsel to those who ask of you about matters of love, children, &c. At least, and she smiles glancingly with those _teeth_ , let 'em believe 'tis Venus all the time, and mayhap 'tis so, for even if your wisdom may be learn'd from your own _experience_ , you and the goddess live commingled. 

I am taken aback, and wonder what the Marquess of B- that is now confin'd in a madhouse would make of Cut-Jo's _theology_. It is, I say carefully, more a _metaphorickal_ matter. 

I do not go about to _offend_ you, says Cut-Jo. For myself I am as happy to _sit in a church_ as any other. But the other is a matter of _family tradition_. I was but a child when my father and I were brought across the ocean upon the _voyage of sorrows_. Yet I was lucky enough to be sold along with my father the first three times . 

Bless me, I think, three times? 

My father, she says, taught me that the _orishey_ might come at any time upon one of our family and make us his messenger, to travel the roads and minister to those who are from home. 

Comes Celeste running across the stable yard, crying, my lady, I cannot find Hector, I believe the d---l has taken him. Following her come Prue carrying a heavy brass warming pan and Timothy brandishing the fire irons. They all see Cut-Jo and stare. O my lady, says Prue, the d---l goes about to _steal your shadow_. 

This is Cut-Jo, say I, that is Ajax' good friend from when he was in the household of Sir M- H- before he went to work for Sir G- R-. 

Timothy says something under his breath of which all I understand is _wool-headed savage_. Sure the household is in a commotion. I leave all to Phoebe who comes out of the stable. Cut-Jo stands on the kitchen threshold and knocks four times in a pattern upon the frame of the door, and calls out something to Euphemia that I can make nothing of. 

Sure you want my Auntie Mrs Black for that, says Euphemia, I know nothing of it, but come inside and seat yourself by the fire, dear cousin. 

Cut-Jo bows again to her most polite, and says that she knows a way of stopping that chimney smoking. By your leave, madame, she adds to me, though it is clear she thinks it Euphemia's business. 

I say yes, certainly, and make the introductions. I leave Euphemia staring after Cut-Jo as if she has seen the Holy Spirit, and carry Cut-Jo off into the care of Docket, who I dare say will know what to do. Docket looks at her very narrow, but says, leave it with me, my lady. 

I write a note to Mr MacD- and one to Mr Q-. I consider, and then write another to dear Admiral K- that is strong against the _soul traders_ , and would be no more afear'd of this Colonel than of a boy that says boo in the street. Phoebe brings me a cup of chocolate and I go to bed. 


	5. I Do Not Desire To Re-Write Othello

## I Do Not Desire To Re-Write Othello

Mr Q- sends me his compliments and says that he will call on me in a week or two, and Admiral K- is sailed for the Mediterranean, but comes Sandy the next afternoon with a pile of papers. I have discover'd your secret, says he. 

O indeed? say I, and tap his arm with the politickal fan. 

Yes, says he most pleas'd with himself, you intend to weave the Somersett case into your new story. Tell me, is the escap'd slave to be a prince of the _Mountains of the Moon_ , and will he die for his liberty or no? For it is a curious matter, but I think the publick will read and weep over the tale of a _black Hannibal_ that perishes heroickally, but be shockt by one who wins the fair maiden and lives prosperous ever after. Unless it should be that there is no fair maiden in the case, but he goes home to his African princess and hopefull family? 

It may be, I say, that the prince is enamour'd of another _fellow_ , who concerns himself with _Utilitarian philosophy_. 

I see, he says, that I am not to know your secrets. 

O, I do not desire to re-write Othello, say I, nor yet Oronooko. But I would understand the legal matters. 

Sandy spreads his papers upon the table. He says that while he would like Mr Q-'s opinion on the matter, in his opinion the law is _in the general way_ on the escap'd slave's side. He speaks learnedly of the rule of _Habeas Corpus_ , and says that t'was proved in a case he has heard of, that a slave once brought into the realm has his liberty _while he remains there_ , and that his master no right to compel him to leave the country. Yet, says Sandy looking grave, without a _letter of manumission_ , should he go abroad again he may be consider'd _property_ once more. 

I begin to think of how a letter of manumission might be acquired. How would such a thing be phras'd? I enquire, for were I to indeed write the _new Oronooko_ , I would desire to have a fine court-room piece in it, for I have never written such a thing yet. 

Such I can well believe, says Sandy, and offers to _hide_ as I pick up my politickal fan. Yet, he says, it is a good thing the matter is _fictional_ , for if such a case were to be raised when the country is all afire with _Election_ fever… 

O? say I. 

He goes ahead to explain with a thoroughness that outdoes even that of Mr N-, that one party is divided between the reformers and the _cotton interest_ , and the other between those who have made their money in sugar and those who envy 'em. Then among the reformers themselves, he says, there are those who believe that the poor souls should be shipt to Africa to build themselves a nation there, and those who point to the _excesses of Saint Domingue_ … 

O my head spins, I say. 

T'would be taken as one party sparring at the other, says Sandy, and no justice at all for the poor soul that only seeks his freedom. 

He goes into the moral arguments of the matter, in which I have no quarrel with him, and bids me farewell saying that he will go about to find a form for a _letter of manumission_ , but is not hopeful of finding one shortly as he may have to write to _friends overseas_. 

Cut-Jo meanwhile is busy about the chimney, and makes _possets_ in Phoebe's still-room. Sure he is a great help to me, says Phoebe, for some of the receipts I have are writ in Latin. 

He? think I, but say nothing. Sure t'is Cut-Jo's secret to keep. I ask how comes Cut-Jo to read Latin? 

He and his father were at one time servants to a surgeon of Charleston, says Phoebe, that offer'd to free them in his Will, but somehow or other it never came about. He has taught me a receipt for Mrs Docket's trouble that works better than the last. 

(Sure I should welcome Cut-Jo to the household for that, if for nothing more) 

That evening I see Ajax sitting outside the stable upon a bench, with Cut-Jo that lies with her head in his lap while he goes about to comb and twist her hair into little knots. She looks up towards him most kindly, and while I doubt not her devotion to her _orishey_ , sure Venus creeps in and frolicks where she may. 


	6. A Most Impudent Visit

## A Most Impudent Visit

Comes the next day Miss M- dressed very fine. Sure she has not had the _impudence_ to call since my marriage to the Marquess, and I do not recall her crossing my doorstep above two or three times before, and then only when invited as a favour to Miss A-. 

My dear Marchioness, she says, I am come to tell you of a happy change in my station. I am now the wife of Colonel T- of the Carolinas. 

I wish her very happy. 

I beg that you will tell Miss A-, she begins, but I cut off this _line of attack_ at once, and say that I do not go about to make intrigues between friends. She and Miss A- are such _old friends_ that sure there is nothing she cannot tell her herself. Did not Miss A- nurse you on your sickbed, I enquire, or something of that sort? 

I think you are mistaken, says she. I raise my eyebrow. 

But I have come, she says, hurrying over her words, to _warn you_ that your singular household… 

O, I say in best _imitation of the dreadfull crocodile_ , my singular household? 

Your kindness, she says, to the _poor dusky brethren_ … 

Indeed, say I, the dusky brethren? 

She looks about her. Sure, she says, _Mrs Docket_ would no doubt agree with me, that it makes trouble to have such people in the household. 

Does Colonel T- think so, I enquire? for I have heard he has a deal of 'em about him in the Carolinas. 

O, she says pettishly, dear Marchioness, I go about to do you a favour. There is a terrible rabble-rouser that my dearest Colonel seeks to bring to justice, that goes about whispering among the kitchens and stables of a rebellion that would see us all murder'd in our beds. Such a thing was plann'd in Charleston not long ago, and only prevented by the loyalty of an old woman to the children she had nurs'd. This man Jo, who the Colonel, out of the goodness of his heart, was pleas'd to free some eight years ago… 

O, he is freed? say I, and has he _papers_? 

Miss M- -- I should say, I suppose, Mrs Colonel T- -- looks suddenly sharp, says she knows nothing of that particular matter, and turns the conversation to Mr J-'s paternal fondness for the little prodigy Mamzelle V- and how _vext_ Miss D- seems all of a sudden, and sure she cannot account for it. I say that it is good in her, that is now the wife of a Colonel, to take such interest in her _former friends_ , as some in her position would wish to cut off the connexion altogether.

O, says Mrs Colonel T- somewhat cross, among such very _old_ friends, my dear Marchioness, there can be no reserve.

I offer her no _tea_ , and desire Hector to show her to the door. 

O, she says, I have always had such a desire to see your _pretty house_ , may not one of the household be spared to show me about? 

I am surpriz'd, I say, that she is willing to go about in company of one of the _poor dusky brethren_ , is she not in fear of being murder'd? 

O, then, says she, may she not look about a little on her own? Sure she will be no trouble. 

Certainly, says Hector, he will be happy to show her about the household _himself_ , only it happens that the upper stories are being _fumigated for the bedbuggs_ , and the fumes are somewhat extream. But sure if she does not mind that… 

O another time, says Mrs Colonel T-, and departs somewhat hurried. 

O you _weasel_ , Hector, say I, she will put out the rumour that we have bedbuggs. 

My apologies, my lady, says Hector. 

I go to find Docket and Cut-Jo and acquaint them of the business, and find them sewing together very quietly with Prue, that peers at the stitches over her spectacles. 

But do you remember nothing of the _dread voyage_? asks Prue. 

Nothing at all, says Cut-Jo, and I count that a blessing. I remember only a little of my _homeland_ , and often I think it may be that I do not remember at all, but that my father told me of it so often. There was a city that made Charleston look like a dirty swamp.

O was it bigger than London? says Prue. 

No, I think not, says Cut-Jo. I see, she adds, that you _distress yourself_ ; but it may well be that your grandfather or grandmother, whoever it may be, was one of the many sailors _of our hue_ in the British Navy. 

My grandmother? says Prue, laughing. 

I see Docket looks discomfited, though sure I am sure none could tell that from her face but I, or mayhap Tibby. I come in the door, and ask Cut-Jo for a word. 

Certainly, my lady, she says, putting down her sewing, and makes me a curtsey. 

I tell her that Mrs Colonel T- has made a visit. Cut-Jo blinks very surpriz'd, and says, O, is she then in London? she had thought Mr and Mrs Colonel T- lived very separate. But then she had not heard of either of 'em in eight years, there may for all she knows have been a reconciliation. 

Sure if ten years may produce a family of six children, eight may produce either a reconciliation or a widower. I give her a short sketch of the former Miss M-'s character, and say that the Colonel has no doubt sent her to _sniff about the household_. I desire of Cut-Jo that she should not go from the house, without that Hector or Ajax go with her. 

I would go out this Sunday next, madame, with your permission, says she, with Ajax to a _spiritual meeting_ , and Euphemia wishes to go also if she can be spared. 

Sure she looks the last person likely to be an Evangelical, but no doubt when one's beliefs are closer to those of the _antient pagans_ than those of the Church, one does well to put up an _appearance_ of piety. 

There is one more matter, Cut-Jo, I say, and ask her how a manumission might be written. 

O? says she, and cocks her head to her shoulder. 

I put the whole matter before her in what terms I have heard from Sandy. Sure I have my Latin from a doctor and not a lawyer, she says, but from what you say, I understand that without a note declaring me freed, I may not travel beyond _England_ again – mayhap not even into _Scotland_.

England is a fine large place, I say, but your _orishey_ must be considered.

I can scribble you the form of it, says she, but I read better than I write, and sure I can make nothing like a fine _signature_. And then, should it be in the name of Colonel T-? for sure he will dispute it.

Mayhap the doctor, say I, that intend'd to free you with your father.

O, says Cut-Jo, 'tis not all Venus with you; sure your _orishey_ is one that _manages and arranges_.

I see Prue that peeps over her sewing and is shockt that Cut-Jo should speak to me so freely; and so I merely smile and go about my business.


	7. Another Visit To Miss I-

## Another Visit To Miss I-

I have a letter from Miss I- desiring me to call, and so I set out on a dull rainy morning to see what she is about. All her children are _romping about_ such as gives me joy to see, though indeed I cannot tell how she manages to work so busily amid the _uproar_.

O it is so good in you to call! she says, kissing me upon the cheek. I have a favour to ask you, if I may. 'Tis the matter of the Allegorickal Poem. There is a tedious long scene where one who I believe is supposed to be the Ideal of a Prime Minister goes about to listen to the Genius of each Continent, and I have just come to the _Genius of Aethiop_ and have no model. I have seen a fine portrait of _your housekeeper_ by Mr de C-, would you ask if she would consent to sit for me? 'Twould be a matter of holding up a lamp and wearing draperies, and one bubbie bar'd or not, quite as she pleases.

I say that I will commend her to Phoebe, but that as to the matter of _bubbies_ she must discuss that with her model. 

I am glad to be able to do Miss I- a favour, for there is one I would ask of her. I open to her the matter of Cut-Jo.

Sharpen'd _teeth_? cries she, O, I would gladly sketch her. Sure she might even make a more authentick _Genius of Aethiop_ than Mrs Phoebe.

O, she will not want her picture distribut'd, I say hastily, and go about to divulge the whole matter. I do not know whether going about to counterfeit the hand of a dead man may be justified under a _universal law_ , but surely it harms none.

Have you a sample of his handwriting, asks Miss I- very brisk. One with a good number of words in it would be best, so that I may see all the letters of the alphabet and how he goes about to make 'em.

I confess I do not. Miss I- looks grave. She shakes her head and says that without such, she fears it may do more harm than good. The _signature_ in particular is like to be compar'd to other documents which the gentleman left. Yet, she says, she is willing to make the attempt, it may be that Mr E- H- has about him some letters from gentlemen of the Americas, he has certainly quarrelled enough with such, and mayhap a _general impression_ will do.

I thank her and praise the work she is at. O, she says, 'tis to be the _Genius of the Antipodes_ , Sir Z- R- has been so very kind as to allow me to visit and sketch his _wombatt_.

O Mama, cries one of the children, come and _play badgers_.

I believe this must be much like the game of _bears_ , and am put much in mind of my own darlings and their brood as I depart.

Phoebe goes to model for Miss I-, and says that 'tis very different to pose for a _female_ , it quite makes her blush. Sure she prefers her Mr de C-. 

Does Miss I- go about to… I begin, but Phoebe shakes her head and says there has been no suggestion they should be _towsell-mowsell_ together. 'Tis but that she _sees and understands_ , she says. I do not broach the matter of _bubbies_.

Cut-Jo goes about to leave the household soon, does not he? says Phoebe. He has been going about to make sure I have all the _receipts_ I may.

Sure I do not know, I say, Cut-Jo may remain as long as Cut-Jo wishes, but I hope that I may arrange something meaning there need no longer be such _secrecy_.

I wonder should I ask Hector is all well with Ajax, but I do not wish to _go about to pry_.


	8. A Shocking Report

## A Shocking Report

Hector brings me the newspaper, saying my lady, a shocking report. 

A Bluebeard Of The Carolinas Found Dead, I read. Three Wives At Least To Sue Over The Estate. 

It is put about that Colonel T- died in his sleep. I think of Cut-Jo's _possets_ and her _spiritual meetings_ , and say nothing. The newspaper has little enough to say of the Colonel, being far more interested in the _wives_. 

'Tis a tale of _Fleet marriages_ and other contrivances with which he cozen'd not only Miss M-, but a widowed Mrs N- of Liverpool, and a person of whom the newspaper says only that her name is put about to be _Gin-Pot Sal_ , and several more. It may be that none of 'em at all are his legal wife, for there is talk that he left behind a _French lady_ to whom he was wed in the Carolinas. (This, I think, may be the separated wife of whom Cut-Jo spoke). Sure I wonder whether t'was the possets at all, or if he died of his _exertions_. 

A sad story, say I. 

Indeed, my lady, says Hector. 

I go about to _scheme_ at how I might obtain the Colonel's signature, in order that Miss I- may present the world with a _deathbed letter_ freeing Cut-Jo. I suppose I might ask the former and perhaps latter Miss M- to visit and bring her marriage lines, but I shrink from including in my schemes those who I am already conscious of _wishing a little ill_. Besides, once she is _invited_ to the house she may well be never out of it.

I think for a little, and then send Timothy with a note to Mr J-, asking if he has any letters from the Colonel, that was such a patron of the theatre. My _dear_ Mr J- must have turn'd about and follow'd Timothy at once, for he soon comes up the _back stairs_ with a fine letter bespeaking a box.

I am so pleas'd with this that I fling my arms about him _quite in the old way_ , and it ends in a _merry tumble_ for old times' sake in which we are both much refresh'd. 

I go to visit Miss I-, who I find in merry mood, and all her children about her clambering in and out of packing-cases. 

O, say I, what is this? do you go about to _leave Town_? Sure t'will be dimmer for the lack of you. 

Sure t'will be more peaceful without my malicious _pencil_ , that makes such trouble, says she. 'Tis my beloved Mr van A- that is now in a good place as court-painter to the Hereditary Duke of W- who collects _curiosities_ , and sends for me and all the children to join him. Sure it will be a fine adventure. Thomas may forget all his Latin, but now he shall learn _German_ and _Dutch_

O, say I, you leave too soon. I show her the letter written by Colonel T-. Have you time to complete that small errand for me? I enquire.

O, says she, it would be a pleasure, for I am quite tired of illustrating Mr E- H-'s Allegorickal Poem. She looks at the letter and nods, and says _a good spread of letters_. Young Lucy runs up to show me her _drawing_ , which is said to be a coach and horses, but might be any thing. I take her upon my knee and ask Miss I- if she is to travel with a party.

Myself and the children only, says she. I had hop'd to find a tutor to travel with us, but the wretched fellow has caught the small-pox. 

I am reminded of Miss G- that is now Mrs T-, and also long'd for adventures. Sure Miss I- is a _unique spirit_ , and would not be troubl'd in the slightest by a tutor of _unusual habits and sharpen'd teeth_ any more than Mrs T- is by the travails of the Antipodes. 

I know of a tutor, say I, a connexion of one in my household, that teaches Latin, though no Greek, and would no doubt be a _protection_ to you upon the road. 'Tis indeed the one who you go about to _free_ by means of your _wicked pencil_. 

A connexion of your household? says she? O, I have no objection, and sure nor will Mr Van A-, for his own grandmother was a lady of the _Dutch Indies_. 

Comes over young John, and shakes my hand very manly, and says _Bid you good den, Lady B-, what cheer, eh?_. Sure he will be at home among the Hereditary Prince of W-'s _curiosities_

I go home in what my wild girl would call one of my _managing moods_ , and no doubt quote to me from that fine novel _Emma_ while our Grand Turk look'd on and smil'd. Mayhap Cut-Jo was in the right of it when she spoke of my _orishey_ that went about to _arrange all_. 

A word, say I to Cut-Jo, who I find going about to mend the small lock on my jewellery-box, that was broken when Mr F- and I were careless where we _romp'd_. Have you ever suffer'd from the _small-pox_? 

Yes, says Cut-Jo most prompt, but I know of no remedy for it better than Dr. Lister's _vaccinations_. 

Cut-Jo, say I, I am most grateful to you for all you have done… 

But I cannot stay in your household, says Cut-Jo. My _orishey_ calls me on the travelling ways. For I may remain neither on one side of the path than t'other. 

I am most grateful, say I, and can put you in the way of a _tutoring position_ , travelling to W-. 

Where is W-, says Cut-Jo. I am pleas'd to see there is some limit to her knowledge. I say that it is a small princedom in Germany, and explain more of the matter. 

O, says Cut-Jo, if I am to go travelling, and be a protector to all these little I's, I had better put on breeches. 

She smiles at me. I see that you are too well-bred to ask questions, madame. But truly, to ask whether I am man or woman is like to asking you whether you are an Ashantee, or a Chinaman. 

Surely, I say (for I do not think she will be displeas'd by blunt speaking) you must have been born one or 'tother. 

If all remained as they were born, says Cut-Jo with a merry bow, sure you should have deprived many of felicity, Madame. I doubt that _Venus_ is any more obliging than any other _orishey_ when deprived of her worship. 

It seems she still has an odd idea of how I look on Venus, but is not entirely in the wrong of 't. I commend her to Docket to be breech'd, and desire that before she leaves she bid a farewell to _Ajax_ , that he does not go chasing off to the Principality of W- after her. I then find Hector, and give him some moneys to take Ajax out to a _tavern_ or such entertainment as he thinks best, as soon as the I- party is departed. 

Certainly, my lady, says Hector. 


	9. All Is Well With Miss D- and Mr N-

Comes Miss D- late one evening and looking very merry. She begs a glass of ratafia. O, she says, all is mended. 

I am glad, say I, how so? 

O, says she, I spoke with my dear Mr N- as soon as he was return'd from Gloucester as you advised, and he confess'd that when he considered _marriage_ , it was with none but _myself_. No other suits me so well, said he, and when I think of the example of _poor Miss I-_ , I would see you well settl'd for the future. (Here Miss D- wipes her eye). 

Yet, said he, I must confess that given my position at the Home Office, and the hope of _better preferment_ to come, were you my _wife_ I should no longer be able to look so kindly on your friendship with Mr J-. And sure things go on so well at present, said he, that I think it would answer just as well to make a _settlement_ upon you. 

O the dear man! cry I. 

Indeed, says Miss D- looking very chearful, he spoke _at length_ of how he would it would be a great honour if I would accept, etc, etc. When I could bear no more I kisst him, and agreed we should _continue as we are_ \- and my dear, I know not which was more _reliev'd_ , of the pair of us. 

And there is to be a settlement, I say. 

Yes indeed, says Miss D-. Sure Miss D- and Mr N-, though not _equally yoked_ , have a great deal of fondness for one another. I shall not wonder if they do not end up _marry'd_ in the end after all – for Mr N- is a curious mixture of _conventional_ and the reverse, and my dearest Miss D- likewise. 

I open my fan, and we begin to talk once more of the Election. 


End file.
